Mary Wroth (1587-1651 / England)
Come merry Spring delight us,
For Winter long did spight us,
In pleasure still persever,
Thy beauties ending never:
Spring, and grow
With joyes increasing ever.
Let cold from hence be banish'd,
Till hopes from me be vanish'd,
But blesse thy daynties growing
In fulnesse freely flowing:
Sweet Birds sing
For the Spring,
All mirth is now bestowing.
Philomel in this Arbour
Makes now her loving Harbour,
Yet of her state complaining,
Her Notes in mildnesse strayning,
Which thought sweet,
Yet doe meet.
Her former lucklesse paining.
Poet Other Poems
- [Bee you all pleas'd, your pleasures gri...
- [How Glowworme-like the Sun doth now app...
- [My Muse now happy lay thy selfe to rest...
- [No time, no roome, no thought, or writi...
- [O That no day would ever more appear]
- [The weary Traveller, who tyred, sought]
- 14 (Song 2)
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.